


Like Sunlight On Water

by missmichellebelle



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Middle Earth, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You think loudly.” Chris is closer now, able to move so quietly that Darren could not have sensed his approach even if he had been at his best.</p><p>“For a human?” Darren asks wryly, but is surprised when Chris slowly shakes his head.</p><p>“For anyone.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Sunlight On Water

“Your aim is too far to the right.”

Darren looses his arrow in surprise, and it does, in fact, veer too far to the right. So far to the right, in fact, that it misses the tree he was aiming for completely and disappears somewhere in the foliage beyond. He sighs, shoulders dropping, as he thinks about having to find his arrow in an unfamiliar woodland.

“You’re a part of the embassy party, are you not?”

He turns, and it doesn’t surprise him that it’s an elf standing there and talking to him. After all, the entirety of Rivendell is populated with elves, it would be strange to see anything else. Darren’s own party has chosen to stick to the city for the most part, and it’s unlikely any of them would have followed him off the ornate pathways.

“Yes.” Darren draws himself up a bit straighter, suddenly feeling self conscious about his shot. He’s not the best archer in his party, and he must seem as incompetent as a child to an elf. Darren is sure they come out of the womb wielding bows.

The elf watches him, bright eyes sparkling, and he paces back and forth with the lithe movements of a cat. Darren knows that elves are light on their feet, can tell by the fluidity of their movements, but this one seems to taunt him with that grace.

“You’re tall for a halfling,” the elf jeers, his musical voice lilting with amusement.

“Half—I’m no  _halfling_ ,” Darren responds with a frown, feeling a bristle of annoyance—even if the elf had called him  _tall_ , and how many times is Darren told that in his life?

“No?” The elf circles him, head tilted. “Too short for a human.” The elf grins, delighted and beautiful. “Curly hair.” The elf slides closer, long, nimble fingers brushing at Darren’s ear. “Human ears.” He frowns. Darren jerks back at the touch, and the elf skips back a few steps.

“Because I  _am_  human.” It isn’t the first time Darren’s been compared to a  _hobbit_ , and he’s used to the teasing, at least from his own kind. But this is an elf.

“You’ve strayed far from your kin, human.”

“I have a name.” Not that it’s of very much importance. Darren is but one sword among many, the sort that dies in battles but who’s name or blood means little when it’s gone.

“Do you?” The elf is finally still, watching him with his light eyes and a curious tilt to his head. “What is it?”

“…Darren, son of Charles.”

“And a man of Gondor,” the elf says, knowingly, and Darren shifts. “ _Le suilon, im Chris._ ”

“I…” Darren’s eyebrows furrow. “I don’t speak Elvish.” The elf’s eyebrows raise in interest, and Darren knows he’s probably said more than he should. He’s not here to interact with the elves—he’s here as part of a guard. But he gets anxious, locked in an unfamiliar room and with next to nothing expected of him until they leave the Elven city. “And you didn’t, either, until a moment ago.” Darren can’t help but smile a little bit. “I always heard elves were playful.” His mouth fumbles after the words are out, but the elf doesn’t look insulted.

“And I always heard that humans were dull and greed driven.” He blinks curiously. “Perhaps you are still those things.” Darren feels a rush of indignation, wanting to immediately refute the statements. His mouth is halfway open when he catches the glint in the elf’s eye, as if he’s expecting the burst of anger Darren was so close to emitting.

Darren does not want to give him the pleasure.

He feels like a child pretending to be an adult as he swallows his words and straightens his shoulders, making the most of his height—the elf is still taller.

“Perhaps,” he agrees cooly, instead, and feels a sense of accomplishment at the way the elf takes on a look of surprise.

The elf moves closer, seeming to float over the ground. His boots do not make any noise in the foliage the way Darren’s had. His bright, keen eyes are narrowed, flitting over Darren as if he might be inspecting the integrity of the armor—or even the integrity of the man, himself. Darren is poorly undereducated in the practices and abilities of elves, aside from their superior fighting skills, but he is fairly certain they cannot look into a man’s soul simply by looking at them.

Darren cannot think of anything he has to hide, but the idea unnerves him all the same.

“Darren, son of Charles,” the elf finally says, and Darren thinks he may have passed whatever test he was unknowingly undergoing. “I am called Chris.”

“No son of anyone specific?”

“My parentage is of no importance to you, or your kind.” It’s not said bitingly, or with any trace of malice. It is stated as pure fact, and Darren almost feels ashamed. He’s a hired sword, doing a duty for his land and country. He cares little for the elves and their own practices.

He’d found them fascinating as a child, back when the idea of elves had seemed more like a fairy tale his mother would tell him to ease him into sleep. Darren had dreamed of meeting them, of having adventures, but when he had first seen an elf, it had been on the field of battle, a place where magic and fantasy are tarred with the reality of the world.

“You think loudly.” Chris is closer now, able to move so quietly that Darren could not have sensed his approach even if he had been at his best.

“For a human?” Darren asks wryly, but is surprised when Chris slowly shakes his head.

“For anyone.”

Darren has been in Rivendell a total of three days, but he has not been this close to anyone of elvish kind. He is not under strict orders not to interact with them, but it’s not the reason he’s there.

Chris is different from many of the elvish men Darren has seen. He still has the same shifting eyes, and skin like rose petals, but his wood shaded hair is short, shorter than even most men back in Gondor. His features are delicate, but masculine, lips berry kissed, neck long and graceful. He’s an elf, and is therefore beautiful simply by existing, but Darren wonders if he would be beautiful even as just a man.

“Your eyes say many things,” Chris continues in his soft, musical voice. Darren sucks in a sharp breath, feeling strangely intoxicated by Chris’s proximity, wanting to reach out and touch—just a bit. He’s so curious, and he just wants to see if his skin is as smooth as it looks, if his lips are as soft as they seem.

But then Chris has danced a step back, and Darren wonders if Chris could read his eyes.

“I—” Darren feels the need to explain himself. He did not mean any offense, and the idea of Chris dancing away, back into the cluster of elves that Darren will not enter himself, is suddenly a bit more unpleasant than it had been. Is it so strange for him to find Chris beautiful? He’s an elf, and Darren is sure that humans have fallen under his spell before.

“You are horrible with a bow.” Chris reaches down to where Darren’s bow lays in the grass. “You will be little help in battle if you cannot loose an arrow.”

Again, Darren feels the need to show this elf wrong. He might not have the same proficiency as an elf, but Darren isn’t completely unskilled with a bow and arrows.

But again, there is the mischievous and playful glint in Chris’s eye. Darren is beginning to catch on that all of this taunting and teasing is a game that Chris is playing with him, and it makes Darren feel off-balanced. He wishes he knew the rules—he’d much rather play along than be the plaything.

“I’m no elf.” Darren takes his bow back from Chris. “But my shot is fair, on a good day.”

“Then is today a bad day?”

“No.” Darren actually manages a smile, although he finds that it isn’t  _too_  hard to call out. Chris might be a little insulting, or even a little rude, but Darren can tell that nothing he has said has been said with true, ill intent.

He had always heard that elves were playful. It makes sense that their type of playing would be different from what he had done as a child.

“If you startle so easily when trying to shoot, you must be quite a hinderance.”

“Then luckily for the land I am sworn to protect, there is little need for battles,” Darren pings back, just as easily, and is again rewarded with the surprised look on Chris’s face.

“It is a lucky time.” Chris sounds wistful, and Darren remembers that, despite his youthful appearance, Chris is probably hundreds of years older than himself. He has seen things, and done things, that Darren could only begin to fathom. “I hope, for your sake, it lasts.”

Darren blinks incredulously, unsure how to take such a sentiment.

“If it does not, however, I feel as if you should be able to shoot straight even if there is an orc at your back.”

 _Orcs_. Darren has only heard the horror stories, but he’s never seen one himself. He knows that’s why there’s a guard, why he’s on this embassy at all, but he will not see an orc until he is crossing blades with it.

With an ease Darren could never manage, Chris pulls his seemingly lost arrow from the brush, twirling it between his fingers with interest.

“I will show you.”

“Show me?”

Chris walks closer, and then holds out the arrow.

“How to shoot your bow. Hopefully it will not break.” Chris taps his finger against the wood, doubtfully, and Darren continues to feel surprised.

“Teaching a human how to shoot a bow?” It sounds so completely ordinary, which is not a word that Darren would ever used to describe elves. A part of him feels like a child, but Darren can also accept the fact that he  _is_  young in Chris’s eyes. Perhaps he should feel offended that Chris is doubtful of his skill and feels the need to correct it, but all Darren can feel is a strange sense of awe. It is as if Chris is bestowing him with a rare and beautiful gift, and Darren would be making a very large mistake if he did not accept.

He’s unsure how exactly he knows this, but some part of him is aware that he needs to take this opportunity while he has it.

“You don’t have better things to do with your time?”

Chris stares at him, eyes wide and open and so very, very curious. Their color reminds Darren of sunlight reflecting off water, and it’s almost as if he can hear the noise of a babbling stream even though none runs nearby.

“I have an abundance of time.”


End file.
